


Proper Gun Control

by firefright, Skalidra



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, Gun Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Jason's not exactly sure how or when Slade figured him out. Maybe he’s been really obvious this whole time and his sometimes lover has just never called him out on it until now. But either way, when Jason finds himself pushed down onto his knees by Slade with a gun pressed against his head, he's not nearly so opposed to the possibility of where this might be going as he should be.





	Proper Gun Control

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This... this is just filth, pure filth. There's not much else we can really say about it, other than the fact it was written for the 'Bad Behaviour' prompt of this year's SladeRobin Weekend event.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Jason’s not sure he actually knows how Slade figures him out, but he’s aware enough to admit that he might have given a few hints along the way. Maybe he’s stared too long at the practiced ease of Slade stripping a gun apart, as intimately familiar and confident with the inner workings of it as he can be with… other things. Maybe he’s admired, more than a few times, the skill that lets Slade empty a clip precisely into a target with not even a breath of pause, even if it’s just paper and cardboard.

Maybe he’s really fucking obvious and Slade’s just never called him on it.

Slade taking the seat beside him on the couch is normal, and so is the arm that settles around his shoulders, pulling at him until he’s leaning into Slade’s side. Slade’s not interested in the show he’s got on, and this is familiar enough that Jason knows he’s not going to actually be watching it much longer, but that’s alright. He’s not really interested in it either.

“Are you invested in this?” Slade asks after a few moments, something vaguely derisive to his tone that makes Jason want to roll his eyes more than it really pisses him off.

“No,” he answers honestly, even if he does elbow Slade a little bit; just hard enough for him to feel it. “Some of us just like to shut our brains off every once in awhile.”

Slade snorts, fingers sliding up from his shoulder to the side of his neck. Knuckles nudge his jaw with just enough pressure to turn his head, as Slade says, “I’ve got much better ways of doing that, kid.”

“Sex isn’t really the same as just vegetating—” Jason starts, but Slade’s mouth is on his before he gets to finish the argument. Well, he can’t say that he’s actually all that upset by that. A little irritated, maybe, but getting run over sometimes tends to just be part of spending time with Slade.

He makes up for it in other ways.

Teeth close on Jason’s lip, bearing down till he opens his mouth to gasp and makes way for Slade to invade with a tongue instead. Jason shifts to tilt more in Slade’s direction, easing the angle of his neck as he reaches over and slides his palm over Slade’s stomach, the fabric of his tank-top bunching underneath his hand. Slade turns towards him as well, tongue withdrawing so teeth can nip at his lip again.

Cold metal touches his neck, and Jason shivers. His first thought is that Slade’s brought a pair of handcuffs out to play, but the shape of it is wrong as it slides in underneath the curve of his jaw; too big, too rigid where handcuffs would twist or shift. Slade shifts slightly downward to kiss the opposite corner of his jaw. Then there’s a _click_ that Jason knows by heart.

His eyes snap open.

Slade is watching him, is the first thing that registers. Watching him with a curving, wicked smirk and a narrowed eye. The second is that there’s a fucking _gun_ against his throat, as what is unquestionably the muzzle of it settles right beneath his ear, the top of the barrel pressing its length along the bottom of one side of his jaw. Hooked underneath the bone so when Slade presses it upwards his head has no choice but to follow, baring his neck and making his pulse jump through the fucking roof.

“Slade?” he breathes, wary of moving at all with that thing against his neck. Best case scenario, a shot at this range deafens him even if it doesn’t hit.

The pressure of the metal pushes him backwards, till his back is pressed against the couch with Slade’s arm still around his shoulders, almost mimicking the original seating arrangement. Except that Jason is desperately trying to work out what the hell this is and whether he should be worried that Slade might have gotten mind-controlled or dosed with god knows what. A Slade not in control of himself is _fucking_ dangerous and Jason doesn’t like his chances of fending him off. Not with a gun already pressed to his throat and pinning him against the back of the couch.

“Hands off, boy,” Slade commands, and Jason feels a little surge of relief at the familiar drawl of it. Dangerous, but said through a smirk. Playful, probably.

Only a little surge though, because a _gun_ is not the same as handcuffs, or getting pinned down, or playing with reluctance and being ‘forced.’

Jason, belatedly, lets go of his grip on Slade’s shirt and pulls his hand away. He flattens it against the couch so he’s not tempted to do anything dumb, and takes in a shaky breath. “Slade?” he repeats, quietly. He’s really not sure what he would ask, if he could even force himself to string together anything real coherent, so he lets the name hang in the air as its own question.

Slade’s gaze flickers down along his neck, eyeing the line of the metal against his skin before looking back up at him.

“What? You don’t like my toy?” he asks, teasing wrapped around every syllable.

Jason breathes in sharply, “Depends on why it’s pointed at me.”

Slade leans into him, pulling him into a brief kiss that he can’t quite help but respond to, even if it’s a little hesitantly. Teeth graze his bottom lip as the gun digs in under his jaw, and _fuck_ those are some conflicting messages his brain is trying to send. He shivers as Slade breaks the kiss, eyes flicking back open after a moment.

“Because you’re not subtle,” Slade says, still close enough that their lips nearly brush as he speaks, “and I’m not blind, kid.”

“Fuck, Slade… you can’t be—”

The gun is a thrillingly cool contrast to the heat of Slade’s mouth, and the sharpness of his teeth as he nips at Jason’s jaw. “Oh, but I am. And I think once you’re done pretending to protest, so are you.”

“Pretending? You’ve got a fucking gun against my neck, why would I be _pretending_ to be a little fucking nervous about that?” Jason swallows, digging his fingers into the couch. “ _Fuck_ , Slade, is that thing actually loaded? You— You wouldn’t _really_ bring a loaded gun, would you?”

Slade’s mouth curls in a smirk.

“ _No_ ,” Jason spits, before he can think about the reaction. “Look, okay, maybe you got me with this whole thing, but if that’s loaded I’m calling a hard no. I’m not going to play around with that, Slade. It’s not happening.”

“So you _are_ interested,” Slade presses, picking out the parts of conversation he wants to hear and ignoring the rest, like he _always_ does.

Jason grits his teeth, and he comes _so_ close to doing something drastic before Slade is suddenly pulling the gun back.

The breath Jason drags in spans the moment it takes for Slade to pull away the arm around his shoulders, both hands coming to the gun. An easy press has the magazine coming loose, and Slade twists it in one hand and flashes it towards him for long enough he can see inside. Empty. It’s empty. His breath comes out in a rush, and he’s still semi-processing that as Slade slides the magazine back in till it clicks into place, lifts the gun to point towards the far wall, and pulls the trigger.

Jason feels tension stiffen his spine, but the only thing that happens is a hollow _click_ of sound. No impact, no _crack_ of a gunshot. There’s no bullet in the chamber.

“I wouldn’t shoot you, kid,” Slade says, voice gone low and serious. “You can trust me.”

Slade meets his eyes, turning back towards him now that his point is proved. The gun lowers to rest against Jason’s thigh, and okay, _yeah_ , he gets a sharp little thrill from the weight of it there. Now that he’s not so worried that he’s about to get shot, or that the threat might be seriously _real_.

“I know,” he manages, shoulders still tense but starting to become so for an entirely different reason. “But accidents happen, and you—” The gun slides slightly against his thigh, and Jason can’t help the way he glances down at it, losing track of his words for a moment before he clears his throat and finds them again. “You pull a weapon on me and I start wondering if it’s really you. Could be mind control, or drugs, or—”

The muzzle taps against the inside of his thigh, inching higher, and Jason feels himself jerk just a little bit. His breath is coming faster.

“ _Slade_ , I’m really trying to make a point here.” It's a complaint, but honestly not much of one. Not with the idle grip Slade has on the gun serving as a thorough distraction, or how his mouth is curling in a lazy smirk. "Could you just _wait_ a second for me to finish?"

"And miss out on you being flustered?" Slade teases. "Seems like a waste."

Jason scowls, releasing his grip on the couch to grab Slade's wrist instead, pulling the gun away from his thigh. "You're a bastard."

Slade moves, and Jason just doesn't have the reaction speed to keep up with the way his wrist is grabbed and twisted off its hold in a flash of movement. He inhales, other hand starting to lift to defend himself, and then the gun is digging in under his chin and bearing his neck back in a sharp arch. He chokes a little when he tries to breathe, free hand freezing in place and his other held in fingers that might as well be made of steel for all the chance he has of breaking free of them.

"Careful, boy," Slade murmurs, shifting to loom over him, pinning his hand to the back of the couch. "You're not in the best position to be insulting me, are you?"

The shiver that slides down his spine is some ungodly mix of wariness and an arousal sharp enough that Jason has to swallow before he's sure that he can actually say anything coherent. Not that he does. Not with the metal pressed to his throat and how Slade is looking at him, single eye narrowed and heated. All trace of teasing gone, and _this_ Jason is familiar with, even if he never actually quite manages to deal with it in any kind of rational manner. God _damn_ his head and how stupidly fucking arousing he finds Slade when he's being dangerous. Jason's pretty sure this is not good for his long-term health.

There's a metallic _click_ , and _fuck_ he's not actually sure whether the safety was on or off or what it's been switched to. Can't see at this angle either.

A thumb presses into a soft spot on his wrist with just enough pressure to faintly ache. "Answers, kid, and I'd suggest you be polite unless you're looking to piss me off."

'Polite' tends to be a hint to use certain forms of address, but Jason feels that familiar thrill of rebellion down his spine as he takes a slow breath and then says, "No, guess the position's not all that great."

His wrist twists into a painful lock, enough to make him grimace and bite back a hiss. Slade waits till Jason meets his gaze, then lifts one eyebrow in a silent demand for a better answer. The pointed nudge of the gun serves as pretty decent punctuation, as far as Jason's concerned, and pries another faint tremble out of him. He's just… just fucking hardwired to be a little damn wary of a gun against his skin, and that is not playing nice (or maybe is playing _way too nicely_ ) with his stupid kinks.

"No…” he breathes, and then right at the edge of pausing too long follows it with a, "Sir."

The angle of his wrist is eased back just enough that he can relax it, and the gun nudges one more time before shifting back as well. "Better," Slade grants, “even if you are still being a brat. Watch that tongue of yours, boy, or I’ll find better uses for it.”

Jason tries, he _really_ does, but he doesn’t quite manage to bite down on the, “Promise?” before it leaves his mouth. His flush is immediate.

Slade just gives a small shake of his head, letting go of his wrist to reach up and slide fingers into his hair instead. “You know, I did warn you.”

The fingers tighten, and this time Jason manages to strangle the moan that nearly bursts out as Slade wrenches his head back with a hard _pull_. Not that he for one second thinks that Slade has forgotten how much he likes having his hair pulled, or that he actually manages to hide the pleasure in his expression, even if he’s stifled the sound. His back’s in a shallow arch, his fingers are digging into the couch again, and Slade’s sliding the tip of the gun up along one side of his jaw to tap lightly against his cheek.

“Come on,” he’s ordered, and then Slade’s pulling him forward and off the couch, shoving him down into the empty spot between the coffee table and the couch.

The gun’s not against his skin anymore, but it’s aimed right between his eyes as Slade lets go of his hair and straightens up, gaze casting about for something. Jason eyes the gun, hands rising to either side of his head almost on automatic, and wonders…

“You go for that, kid,” Slade remarks, before Jason’s even finished _having_ the fucking thought and with the same idleness he might use if he was commenting on the weather, “and we’re going to be playing a very different game.”

Jason swallows, and watches as Slade reaches for the remote with his free hand. It’s not a _warning_ , exactly, just… a direction. He could sit here and he could go along with this whole ‘threatened’ thing and whatever Slade’s got in store, or he could go for that gun. He could make this a fight, and bring on something rougher that will probably end with him having enough bruises to make anyone else wonder if he got his ass handed to him.

(Yes, he does get his ass handed to him usually, but winning isn't exactly the _point_.)

Slade clicks off the TV, dropping the remote back to the coffee table with a clatter. Jason stays still.

A hand comes down to wrap around the back of his neck, thumb hooking underneath the corner of his jaw to force him to look up. “Smart boy,” Slade murmurs, tugging him into a higher kneel. The gun never wavers.

“Maybe I’m biding my time.”

The curl of Slade’s lips is amused, knowing. “Maybe.”

The gun touches his jaw, slides down the curve of it and then lifts just enough to rest — as Jason takes in a sharp breath — against his bottom lip. Slade’s not— Okay, that’s _not_ what he was thinking of when Slade mentioned better things he could do with his tongue. He can’t imagine that’s going to be comfortable, or taste good, or— or—

 _Fuck_ , now he can’t get the goddamn image out of his head and he’s fucking blushing and maybe half-hard and that’s just not _fair_.

“Open up,” Slade murmurs, smirking down at him with that look like there’s not a single reaction that escapes him. (And there probably isn’t, given that Slade’s got better senses than pretty much any human and is also a massively perceptive, manipulative bastard.)

Jason hesitates a moment, breathing short and sharp through his nose, and then, slowly, gives. He parts his lips, relaxing his jaw enough that the muzzle of the gun can slide in between his teeth.

It’s a little bigger than a dick, is his first thought, but _nothing_ like one. It doesn’t yield like flesh does, scraping uncomfortably against his teeth until he cranes his mouth open a little further to give more room, and everything but the very tip is still cold against the heat of his mouth. The whole thing is just _rigid_ too, nudging nearly to the back of his throat before the trigger guard presses to his bottom lip and there’s no more to be pushed in. He breathes through his nose, tongue pressing against the bottom of the barrel as it tries, instinctively, to figure out what to do with what’s in his mouth. Jason has to consciously force it flat to stop tonguing at the intrusion of metal.

His eyelids have closed, but he opens them again when Slade says, “Eyes up.”

There’s a heat to Slade’s gaze that Jason’s familiar with, and an almost-tenderness to his touch as the hand on his neck lets go to trace a thumb over his cheek to the corner of his mouth. As tender as Slade ever gets during play like this anyway, which really just means that it’s made with a careful kind of firmness and isn’t blatantly sexual or domineering.

Now, one corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Not a bad look for you, kid.” Slade's thumb hooks at his bottom lip for a moment, pulling at it and then letting go. "And an excellent way to shut you up, apparently."

Jason feels his cheeks heat, but it's not like he can do any more than grumble something muffled and unintelligible, so he doesn't try. He glares though, even though he knows it's not going to do anything.

Slade steps closer, sliding his free hand back into his hair and cupping the back of his skull with powerful fingers. "Why don't you suck on it?" he suggests, tugging lightly at Jason's hair. "Show me what else that tongue can do apart from get you in trouble."

Giving a gun a blowjob is not even _close_ to anything Jason was prepared to do today, but there is absolutely nothing he manages to do in response to that suggestion but shudder and obey. It doesn't taste of anything bad, just metallic with a sharp edge of bitterness from gunpowder or polish or whatever the fuck is on the actual barrel. Nothing acrid enough to put him off. He's thankful for that, because he's pretty sure it's the only thing keeping his mind from wandering into thinking about where this gun might have been before his mouth.

There’s not much room for his tongue to move, and his cheeks are _burning_ , but the shame doesn’t nearly outweigh the arousal curling in his gut. Especially with Slade watching with the kind of dark, restrained hunger that Jason usually only gets aimed at him when Slade’s got him tied down somewhere and desperate.

The gun is drawn back, then slides back in over his lip. Jason maybe makes a sound not unlike a moan, not that he's fucking _ever_ going to admit that to anyone.

"Enjoying yourself?" Slade asks, because he's an _asshole_.

Luckily, Slade apparently doesn't expect him to actually answer. A push at his scalp turns his head to one side instead, as Slade steps even closer. Right up against him, in fact, with cloth pressing against the side of his face with the hard line of Slade's cock just behind it. Fingers tighten in his hair to hold him still as Slade's hips roll forward, grinding against his— his fucking _face_.

Fucking _Christ_.

"You don't mind if I enjoy myself too, do you, boy?"

Jason nearly chokes, and it's not because of the gun between his teeth. He grabs, blindly, for one of Slade's legs and finds a handful of his sleeping pants, which is more than enough to curl his fingers into and just hang on. He feels— _Fuck_ , he doesn't even know what he's feeling. He's… He's turned on, and humiliated, and there's a fuzziness to his thoughts that he recognizes from other times and games. Everything is too much, and _just_ enough.

There's a moment of stillness.

Metal presses to his top teeth, forcing his head to tilt back slightly, and Jason automatically follows the angle to look up at Slade. It feels like a long, long way up past the rumpled fabric of Slade's shirt to where that single eye is looking down at him. Slade eases the gun back till it finally leaves his mouth, resting against his lip but letting him breathe. Slade's holding his gaze.

Metal traces his bottom lip, _wet_ from being in his mouth. "How about you answer my question?" Slade presses, his voice gone low and dark. Not threatening, but echoing that restrained desire visible in his expression.

Jason swallows, needing the moment to remember what the question even was. It isn't until he's slowly pulled his mind back together that he fully realizes that Slade is checking on him. Making sure that his wild grab for a leg wasn't some half-conscious demand to stop.

Something high and tight in his chest settles back into place.

"Not my choice, is it?" he manages, keeping his head tilted up to look Slade in the eye.

Slade smirks. "Smart boy." The muzzle of the gun slides across Jason's cheek, pulling a shiver from him before it comes back to click against his teeth. "Why don't you get back to it then?"

It feels almost out of his control, how his mouth opens to let the barrel slide back in. His head's allowed to come out of the upwards tilt, and Jason shudders and tightens his grip on Slade's pants. His other hand rises to grip at them too, as Slade's cock grinds against his face, hot and hard and impossible to deny. It's not aggressive, just a slow, steady roll of hips against his cheek, shortening his already restricted breath and spiking arousal down his spine in dizzying flashes. It almost feels like two people, one heavy in his mouth while the other waits for a turn, and Jason's a little surprised how much that makes him _want_.

He groans around the gun, eyelids flickering down as sensation overwhelms him. His head's held still, trapped by the breadth of the hand across the back of his skull, but Jason leans the rest of his body in towards Slade's. The movement of Jason's hands — letting go only to slide up and grab onto the fabric at Slade's thighs instead — feels like it belongs to someone else, but somehow the approving hum he gets a moment later cuts right through all the haze.

"Making me jealous of my own gun, boy. It feel good on your tongue? That weight?" Slade's fingers loosen enough to slide through his hair, as Jason gives a muffled moan that he's pretty sure is all the confirmation Slade needs. It gets him a laugh at least; a low, heated chuckle. "Getting off on having a gun in your mouth… How about we make it something real, kid?"

The question isn’t actually looking for any kind of an answer, but Jason still moans another _yes_ anyway. He wants… God, he's not even sure exactly what he wants.

He takes in a shaky breath as the gun slips free of his mouth, sliding across his jaw and leaving a wet streak in its wake. The muzzle presses against his temple, pushing his face in against Slade's crotch and all he can do is shudder, his mouth open as he pants. Every breath comes with the thick, musky scent of male arousal, and he gets a low groan when he mouths, unprompted, at the rigidity of Slade's cock behind the sweatpants. God, he _wants_ that, and there's only a single layer of cloth in his way. Cloth that doesn't _have_ to be in his way.

His fingers, still curled tight, pull down on the pants covering the prize beneath them. It's only a moment before they're far enough down that Jason's face to face with Slade's dick instead of just fabric. He gets his mouth on it without hesitation, pressing his lips and tongue to the side.

"Eager, aren't we?" Slade mocks, the fingers in his hair pulling tight to drag Jason back a couple inches. "Show me, boy. Pants down; let me see how hard you are."

Jason's hands are shaking a little when he manages to uncurl them, but then most of him is faintly trembling in one way or another. It doesn't stop him from dropping both of those hands to shove his sweatpants down, gasping at the sudden exposure to the air. He's not looking down, not with the gun against his temple and Slade's fingers in his hair, but he can _feel_ it.

Slade's voice distracts him before he can give into how much he wants to just get a hand on himself. "You're something special, aren't you? Ready to burst just from this." Metal slides across his face, tilting his head up with the threat of the muzzle hooking underneath his chin.

All Jason can manage is a rough, pleading, " _Slade_."

"I'm not going to leave you hanging, kid. Come here."

A tug to his hair brings him in close against Slade's cock, the length brushing his jaw and pulling a wanting moan from his throat. He grabs for Slade's thighs again, and this time it's skin beneath his hands; hot muscle that he digs his fingers into to hold on.

Slade gives a tightly restrained groan of desire, up above him. "You look good down there. Put that mouth of yours to work, boy, and I'll let you jerk off too. If you want to get off kneeling down there with a gun at your head."

Jason really, _really_ does.

Licking his lips, he opens his mouth and takes the head of Slade’s cock inside. The taste is immediately better than that of the gun barrel, and infinitely more familiar. He sighs needily as he swirls his tongue around it, sucks briefly, and then presses his head forward further, seeking to fit the rest of the length in.

Normally, he’d be more teasing at first. Take his time with it. But right now all Jason wants is Slade’s dick in his mouth, his throat. He wants to feel full on it, _choke_ on it even. Wants that uncomfortably dirty but delightful feeling that came from fucking his mouth on the gun to continue.

Slade seems to appreciate his fervor, if the thick groan is anything to judge by. The hand in his hair encourages him, light pressure at the back of his skull until he’s got nearly the whole length of Slade’s cock in his mouth, pushing at the back of his throat. He digs his nails into Slade’s thighs and moans around it, feeling nearly dizzy with want and lack of air both. Enjoying every second of it as Slade tightens his grip to hold him still and gives a shallow roll of his hips.

The relaxation of his jaw is automatic, head tilting to a slightly better angle to make it easier, even if he’s not sure that’s exactly what he wants right now. Maybe he doesn’t want it to be _easy_.

“That’s it, kid,” Slade praises, thrusting a bit more sharply into his throat. “Just sit there nice and pretty and _take_ it.”

Jason can’t really verbalize how much he wants that, but he tries with another moan.

Slade’s always powerful, but there’s something about the perfect blend of control and force like this that’s always gotten Jason off _hard_. Having his mouth fucked, all that strength leashed into exquisite control, never quite too hard or quite too far but just on the edge of too much. It's intoxicating and overwhelming and _fuck_ but it blanks his mind right out, every time.

He clings to Slade's thighs, eyes closed, floating in the feelings and the arousal and the heat burning through his veins. He wants, and he _gets._ Slade's hand is tight in his hair, cock thrusting deep in his throat, and the gun pressed against his temple is a bright spot of sensation. A sharp reminder of the danger that spikes right down his spine and pools hot and heavy in his gut. He wants… He _wants—_

"Go on, kid," Slade says above him, voice husky and just a bit breathless. "Get a hand on yourself; get off."

It takes Jason a second to understand the order, and then to really _process_ it. Then he can't obey fast enough.

He drags a hand down off Slade's thigh, grabbing his own cock and immediately moaning. God, it fucking _feels_ — It's all too good. He can't hold back, or try and slow down, he just careens forward and— and—

Jason nearly sobs his release, eyes squeezing shut as the sweep of pleasure cascades through his mind and completely wipes out any other thought. There’s come on his fingers, probably on the carpet too, but the bright white haze doesn’t allow him to feel concerned about it. It doesn’t allow him to feel anything but how good this all is, heat rippling out from his stomach and brain blissfully blank.

And how, through it all, Slade keeps fucking into his mouth. Keeps _using_ him, as if it’s all Jason’s good for; taking away his control and putting it in other, more capable hands.

Jason doesn’t know exactly how long it goes on for, floating on endorphins as he is, but eventually he hears Slade curse, feels his fingers grip his hair almost painfully as he shoves his cock as deep into Jason’s throat as it will go.

“ _Swallow_.” is the growled order, punctuated by another push of the gun barrel against his temple, but there’s no need. This part Jason knows well. He contracts his throat, drinks it down until Slade is done. There are tears at the corners of his eyes by the time he withdraws, but Jason doesn’t mind, particularly when Slade sets the gun aside and brings his thumbs up to wipe them away.

“Kid,” Slade’s next words are gentler, “Hey, kid, look at me.”

Jason blinks slowly. It takes Slade repeating the words again for him to actually be able to follow through. Everything is just so… warm, fuzzy. He hardly feels real anymore.

“Come here,” Slade says, after a moment of focused scrutiny down at him. He pulls Jason up off the floor and onto the couch against his side, wrapping a strong arm around his waist. The contact feels good as Jason curls into his chest, as does the now gentle brush of fingers through his hair from Slade’s hand in what has become a familiar pattern for them post extremely intense bouts of sex.

Closing his eyes, Jason lets himself fall into it, until eventually the fog rolls back from his mind and he starts to feel like something close to himself again.

“Back with me yet, kid?” Slade knowingly chooses that moment to ask him.

Jason grunts something that may or may not be a refusal. Words still feel like they’d be a bit of a challenge; he _could_ , but why?

Slade’s palm strokes partially down the curve of his spine, and there’s a definite edge of amusement to his voice when he asks, “Want anything?”

Jason takes a slow breath, shifting slightly to take stock of his own body and _ew_ his fingers are tacky and gross. Pettily, he wipes them on Slade’s chest.

“Really, kid?”

“How about you clean the carpet?” Jason manages to put together, instead of acknowledging what he’s just done. “That’d be good.”

He hears Slade sigh, then the hand on his back comes up to lightly shove his head down. “Brat.”

Jason goes with it, sliding down and stretching out along the couch till his feet hit the end and his head can pillow on Slade’s thigh. He’s not fully stretched out, by far, but he doesn’t feel like hanging his legs off the end to make it happen. This is good enough.

“Your fault,” he points out, then yawns widely enough it makes his jaw ache. Or rather, makes him aware that his jaw does ache. Okay, fair enough, not surprising.

Slade’s fingers come to his hair, combing it back from his eyes. “Pretty sure it was your hand, kid.”

Jason cracks an eye open, turning his gaze up just enough to see Slade’s face. “Having had a literal gun to my head, I can pretty safely say it was still your fault.”

There’s not anything directly conceding, but Slade grunts and doesn’t argue, which may as well be a complete surrender. “Guess it wasn’t enough to knock the sass out of you.”

His eyes are slipping shut, but Jason still mumbles, “You like my sass.”

“Mm. I especially like finding ways to shut it up.” Slade tugs at his hair, and Jason can’t quite help the little pleased groan that escapes his throat as it bends back.

But it does bring one thought ricocheting back into his head, just important enough that he doesn’t want to let Slade distract him from it no matter how good the hair pulling feels. There are some things that absolutely need to be said here, so Jason tilts to lie on his back and look up so he can meet Slade’s eye. An eyebrow arches down at him before he even opens his mouth.

“Speaking of, don’t do this again without warning me, okay? In advance.” The eyebrow stays arched, and Slade’s gaze flickers briefly down his body with enough intent that Jason can read the argument without even needing to hear the words. “ _Yes_ , it was good, it worked out, but that doesn’t mean I like having a gun suddenly pulled on me. So, warning, okay?”

Slade’s head tilts, fingers coming up to slide over Jason’s jaw, then his lips. He only barely doesn’t shiver. “You want me to come up to you and ask if you’re in the mood to get your mouth fucked by a gun?”

The touch is nice, but he scowls a little at the words. “Don’t be a dick, Slade. I’m sure you can think of some non-verbal way to communicate it.” He rolls onto his side, facing away from Slade with a complaining huff of sound. “After blindsiding me with this shit you’re lucky I’m thinking of letting you do it again at all.”

Slade chuckles — the bastard — and trails fingers down his spine. Very far down. “Nothing to do with how much you enjoyed it?”

Jason squirms, but doesn’t smack Slade’s hand away from its wandering. “Shut up.”

He feels Slade lean down, nearly close enough to press lips against his hair as his fingers slide just a little further, to sensitive nerves in very specific places. Places Jason is maybe okay with, even if he plans on complaining at least a little. In a bit. Definitely.

“Well, then are you in the _mood_ to take this back to the bedroom, Jason?” A little more of a deliberate press, pulling a small inhalation from Jason and a shallow arch of his back. Slade makes a sound of thought before he can actually answer. “I don’t think the barrel is the right shape to be comfortable, but I’ve got a silencer that’s nice and _smooth_.”

Jason chokes on thin air.

“Jesus _Christ_.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Skali's tumblr](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Fire's tumblr](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
